


Let Me Take Care of You

by LittleLynn



Series: Don't Go [7]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bard gets a touch of food poisoning, M/M, Thranduil freaks out, works absolutely fine stand alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 05:51:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3238664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLynn/pseuds/LittleLynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard could have reeled off all the sensible diplomatic reasons that Thranduil really should attend the banquet in Erebor. That is not what he said.</p><p>“If you come, I will do that thing you’ve been asking me for for weeks.” Is what he said instead.</p><p>Bard watched as Thranduil went from confusion to understanding, eyes going dark as Bard raised an eyebrow mischievously.</p><p>It was hilarious to watch Thranduil suddenly start packing with fervour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Take Care of You

**Author's Note:**

> Tah-Dah! Part seven has finally arrived!
> 
> Enjoy :)

 

Bard couldn’t quite believe that it had been ten years since the dragon and the battle. Some days it felt like yesterday, others it felt like a lifetime ago, yet here they were, celebrating the retaking of Erebor by banqueting in the place itself.

Unsurprisingly it had been seriously hard work for Bard to convince Thranduil to come at all, even though they both knew that he really should. He didn’t even have a good excuse not to go.

“Thran it won’t be that bad. It’s two days, only one night, and you’re only expected to actually socialise in the evenings, I’m sure you’ll survive.”

“Dwarves banquets are just so boorish, they’ll cram food down their gullets so fast you’d think there was a famine, take an hour break, and then they eat more! Before repeating it all again. It is disgusting. The only music you’re likely to hear are coarse shouted songs that they have the gall to call music.” Thranduil complained from where he was lounging on the bed while Bard attempted to pack.

“And yet, despite all this, you’re still coming.” Bard stated simply.

“Oh really?” Thranduil challenged from the bed.

“Yep.” Bard popped his p, knowing that he had Thranduil beat.

“And how do you know that?” Thranduil asked.

Bard could have reeled off all the sensible diplomatic reasons that Thranduil really should attend. That is not what he said.

“Because if you do come, I will do that thing you’ve been asking me for for weeks.” Is what he said instead.

Bard watched as Thranduil went from confusion to understanding, eyes going dark as Bard raised an eyebrow mischievously.

It was hilarious to watch Thranduil suddenly start packing with fervour.      

So far it was going pretty well, or at least, as well as could be expected when you had Thranduil and Dain in the same room. Bard couldn’t tell if the wizard was helping bridge the animosity between the two, or just creating enough general havoc around the table for it not to matter. And in the grand tradition of Gandalf speaking Thranduil just rolled his eyes and started undressing Bard with his eyes instead of listening anyway.

But really Thranduil was behaving – and no one else needed to know that he was using sex as bribery to get him to behave. Although if they had any brains they would have figured it out.

Or at least, it had been going well. And it really wasn’t in way Thranduil’s fault, so Bard would still make good on his promise.

Well, when he wasn’t bent doubled retching up the entire contents of his stomach into a bucket.

Bard had retired from the feast early when he started to feel ill, and Thranduil had gotten up to come with him (despite bard’s assurances that he was fine – which were quite obviously flawed assurances anyway) but Gandalf, much to Thranduil’s exacerbation had collared him and insisted on having a conversation.

That had been about an hour ago. Bard had managed about fifteen minutes of lying in bed trying to get to sleep (hoping to be able to sleep whatever it was off) before he’s been forced to double over his bucket. He had been curled around it on the floor ever since.

And that was how Thranduil found him.

Groaning, curled up on the floor around a pretty disgusting bucket.

They’d been together ten years Thranduil could deal.

Although actually Bard had never been ill with more than a cold in those ten years, and by the way he reacted when he did have a cold, maybe he couldn’t deal.

“ _Meleth nín_!” Thranduil shouted frantically the second he saw him sinking to his side and holding onto his face, panic already slicing through his fine features as he frantically passed his hands over Bard as if he could take away whatever was hurting him, looking for all the world like he was about to cry.

Shit, Thranduil could not deal.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay.” Bard said, gently stilling Thranduil’s hands with his own and doing his best to sit up into a less tragic position.

“You are quite clearly not okay. What has happened?” Thranduil asked, holding onto Bard’s hand so tightly, Bard’s heart ached, that every present fear of Thranduil’s being forced to the forefront, threatening to take Bard before either of them were ready.

Not that they were ever going to be ready.

“What’s happened, what’s wrong?” Thranduil asked again, vice like grip on Bard as if he was going to slip away.

Thing is, Bard was pretty sure he knew exactly what was wrong. He just feared that saying so would do more damage than good.

“I’m sure it’s just a bug. Us mortals get sick sometimes.” He tried to joke, but his voice was a little weak (he did feel absolutely awful) and Thranduil was having none of it.

“You’re lying. Bard, I know you well enough to know that. What’s happened?”

He didn’t want to say, but Thranduil was looking at him with this look of absolute terror, like he thought Bard would drop dead any second, and Bard just couldn’t let him worry like that about something that would blow over in a day or so anyway. So instead he sighed.

“I think I have a touch of food poisoning.” He admitted reluctantly.

And Bard was indeed met with the exact reaction he had expected (and feared).

“The dwarves poisoned you!?” Thranduil roared, looking torn between wanting to literally _murder_ the dwarves – and not in the way he usually did, like and actual where-is-my-sword-I-am-going-to-dismember-you-slowly way – and not wanting to move an inch from Bard’s side.

“Thran, Than, Thran.” Bard said quickly, trying to grab his hands back and calm him back down. “It’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad! You just told me that the dwarves poisoned you!” Thranduil shouted, absolutely seething.

Oh right, elves didn’t get sick, they probably had absolutely no idea what food poisoning was. They only kind of poisoning they knew of was the literal, trying to kill you kind.

“Thran, I think we’ve had a bit of a cultural miscommunication.” Bard explained calmly, trying his breath to stop Thranduil from having a heart attack (could elves get heart attacks? Bard didn’t fancy finding out).

“How so?” Thranduil asked, worry still glistening bright in his eyes.

“When mortals get ill from food – completely by accident I might stress – we call it food poisoning. I promise you the dwarves didn’t do this on purpose.” Bard tried to placate, rubbing his hands over Thranduil’s comfortingly.

Thranduil looked relived that Bard wasn’t dying, but no less murderous.

“Will you be okay if I leave you alone for a moment?” Thranduil asked, but Bard didn’t like the sound of that.

“Thran, please don’t start a war because I got food poisoning.” He groaned, tangling a hand in Thranduil’s gown so he couldn’t walk away.

“I’m just going to go and inform the dwarves that they have caused the King of Dale to take ill and that I expect suitable reparations and apologies to be made.” Thranduil said, not even trying to hide what he really meant in his tone.

“Yeah, because that’s something I’m going to let you do.” Bard commented, he’d have usually raised an eyebrow, but he was feeling pretty excessively low on energy right now.

“They need to know that you are unwell at least.” Thranduil reasoned, and it was a good point, but Bard still wasn’t about to let him go on his own.

“In which case you are not going by yourself.” Bard decided, starting to struggle up from the floor.

Really it should not be his job to avert war when he felt this bad.

“You should be in bed.” Thranduil protested, taking his hand as he stood.

“And if I could trust you not to start a war I would be.” Bard retorted, but his voice was only filled with fondness, getting the beginnings of a smile out of Thranduil.

Bard swayed groggily as he stood, and Thranduil took his arm to steady him. The worry that had only just started to recede was back in full force in his eyes.

“ _Meleth nín?_ ”

“It’s okay.” Bard lied before doubling over and retching into the bucket again, leaving Thranduil increasingly distressed, rubbing circles into his back.

“No you’re not.” Came Thranduil’s anxious voice, he was obviously not convinced that Bard didn’t have something more serious, helping Bard stand straight again.

“Ugh, I just want to go home.” Bad sighed, burying his head into Thranduil’s neck.

“Well then we will, it’s hardly far and you can ride with me, come on. We can send someone back for our stuff.” Thranduil said gently, brushing back Bard’s hair and kissing his forehead.

Bard nodded and Thranduil wrapped an arm around Bard as they walked because he was wobbling, feeling light headed and woozy from the food poisoning and his subsequently completely empty stomach.

Thranduil supported him as they headed through the maze of halls of Erebor, passing through the banqueting hall that was being used as they made their way out.

“Master Bard? What on earth has happened?” Balin asked, jumping up out of his seat and rushing over to them as fast as his years would allow.

“What has happened is that your delightful banquet has managed to give him ‘food poisoning’.” Thranduil glared at Dain as Bard smacked a hand against his chest in a feeble warning, he really wasn’t feeling up to much by this point.

“Oi! Everyone else is fine. It can’t have been our food.” Dain protested, accent still as thick as ever.

“Obviously you forgot to factor in the fact that bard does not have the constitution of a dwarf when it comes to food. As in, he actually likes it to be cooked.” Thranduil sneered towards the end and Bard buried his no doubt pretty pale face into Thranduil’s neck in embarrassment.

“Well then it’s not our fault men have weak stomach’s.”

“A gracious host caters to their invited guests, especially if they can cause illness when they do not.” Thranduil was practically seething, one arm wrapped around Bard protectively, and the other balled into a fist at his side.

Bard could hear Dain take in an indignant breath, too proud to admit that maybe they should’ve been more careful with their food, but Bard spoke up first, voice pretty thin but still audible.

“I would really appreciate it if you didn’t make me have to avert a war right now. I feel terrible and do not have the energy. Regardless of how it happened I am quite sick and would like to go home. I thank you for what was a lovely evening until I fell ill.” Bard said politely but with a slight edge to his voice that brokered no argument.

Dain grumbled but Balin, ever the least bull-headed one of the lot spoke up instead.

“Yes, we can have your things sent over in the morning. We do hope you feel better soon and we are sorry for any blame that may lie with us. It was not our intent.” Balin said, emphasising every plural ‘we’ and glaring at Dain.

Bard nodded and nudged gently at Thranduil so that he started walking them both towards the exit. Balin escorted them, apologising on behalf of the dwarves which at least did something to ease Thranduil’s practically homicidal expression.

Thranduil helped him up onto his elk, letting him sag against his chest as they rode back to Dale, arms caging him in protectively.

Bard was dry heaving for the whole night, neither of them able to get a wink of sleep as Thranduil rushed around fluffing pillows and brushing his hair and checking his temperature and bringing him fresh water every ten minutes.

“Settle down Thran, you don’t need to get me anything its okay.” Bard had assured with a soft smile, even though he really was grateful for the cool water and soothing attentions he was getting. He was just so unused to being the one getting looked after. But by now Thranduil could read him like a book.

“I’m taking care of you, _Meleth nín_. The way you do for me, and your children, and Dale every single day. Now it’s my turn.” Thranduil replied gently with a kiss to Bard’s sweaty forehead.

When Bard was no better come morning and much weaker looking – nothing out of the ordinary when you’ve been so ill, but still horrible – Thranduil began to get really stressed, no doubt made worse by his own lack of sleep. He was always irritable if he didn’t sleep well.

“I want to take you to Rivendell. We have healers in Mirkwood but they are not as skilled. Yes we should go. It will not take me long to pack us things.” Thranduil decided, convincing himself, looking washed out with worry as he started grabbing clothes and putting them on the end of the bed.

“Thran, Thran.” Bard repeated, pulling him from his frantic packing and patting space on the bed beside him.

Thranduil came and sat next to him, letting Bard rest his head in his lap, trapping him there.

“By the time we get to Rivendell I will be absolutely fine. It will pass in a couple of days. I promise. Have I ever broken my promises?”

“No, _Meleth nín_ , you have not.” Thranduil sighed, threading a hand through Bard’s hair and making Bard want to purr – and he would have if he didn’t feel so sick.

Bard had to talk Thranduil down from dragging him to Rivendell three more times over the next couple of days. And even if he’d convinced him not to take him, Thranduil stayed unmoving from his side (even when the kids tried to get him to leave and take a nap) but he just would not move, no matter how much Bard assured him that he was going to be fine.

Bard knew he was terrified the he was going to die while he was sleeping, no matter how close he held him and promised him he would be fine.

By the time Bard had stopped being sick, Thranduil had dark circles under his bloodshot, tired and terrified eyes, no colour in his drained face that was creased with stress, glamour not holding up under his distress, and a hand that hadn’t stopped clasping bard’s the entire time.

When Bard had started to be on the mend Thranduil had buried himself in Bard’s side and cried with relief for hours and Bard held him in an increasingly tight grip.

It had only been food poisoning, unpleasant but hardly fatal, and Thranduil looked like a ghost.

That had only been food poisoning.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Only one part left to go guys :'( ~ I give no spoilers about what I have planned ;)
> 
> Feel free to prompt, fangirl or just say hi in my askbox on [Tumbles](http://obithefabulous.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> [THIS FIC HAS BEEN BLESSED WITH ART ](http://merinia.tumblr.com/post/109990482905/i-feel-sick-so-bard-should-too-actually-this)


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